A Level of Clarity
by Jaykin Elendar
Summary: Drizzt finally comes to terms with his friends' deaths and starts to move on... only to find that they're not QUITE dead yet.
1. Prelude

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      Drizzt opened his eyes slowly as he woke up, to pitch darkness and a silence more complete than anything he had heard... or not heard... in years. "Innovindil?" he asked as his eyes shifted into the infrared spectrum. The light-sleeping elf did not respond, but Drizzt thought he understood why as he propped himself on his elbows and looked around.

      He wasn't in the cave he shared with his elven companion, where he remembered falling asleep. He was in a cave, to be sure, but one that was immediately recognizable to him. The large, perfectly circular area he found himself in was not the naturally formed, barely touched structure of a surface cave. The walls were too perfectly smooth, the shape too perfectly round, the air too perfectly still. One word came to mind before all others.

      Menzoberranzan.

      Drizzt rocked back and then rolled to his feet, reaching for his scimitars to see if he still had them. Merely more puzzled to find them still on his belt, he turned in a slow circle. Even more slowly, he started to grin.

      Oh, this was Menzoberranzan, all right. This was the part of Menzoberranzan something inside of him had never ceased to yearn for in the decades it had been since he had last set foot here. This was the sparring room that he had spent his days with Zaknafein in.

      The purple-eyed drow inched towards the weapons rack to the side of the chamber, not daring to question the fact that no harm befell him as he crossed the room. His fingers fell lightly to the hilt of a sword, over the haft of a mace, and brushed against the handle of a long spear.

      "Secondboy," greeted a familiar voice. Drizzt spun around, his scimitars snapping out of their sheaths, before he fully registered the sound.

      Zaknafein Do'Urden stood calmly, as though he had not noticed the deadly blades at his throat. He smiled slightly. "No, Drizzt, we're not going to spar today," he remarked.

      "You're dead," Drizzt stammered, not removing the scimitars. Zak rolled his eyes.

      "Do I look dead?" the weaponmaster asked wearily.

      "House Do'Urden was destroyed... this is impossible." A rush of recognition flooded into Drizzt's mind, as it dawned on him just how surreal the whole experience was. 

      "If memory serves, Drizzt, your theory on what is possible and impossible is constantly being smashed. For instance: it was impossible that your friend at Melee Magthere would turn on you and stab you in the back when the opportune moment arose. And it was impossible that the cross-down was the correct parry for the double-thrust low. It was impossible for you to find welcome on the surface, and yet you have. Point proven?"

      Drizzt nodded numbly. "Then... I am in Menzoberranzan?"

      "That would be impossible," Zaknafein replied casually, stepping back from the threatening weapons, finally. Drizzt sheathed them, sighing in exasperation. Zak's roguish grin flashed at him briefly. "There's a good boy."

      "I don't understand this..."

      Zak nodded. "I know. There are quite a few things that you have not come to understand, Drizzt. And yet, there are so many concepts that you understand with a clarity beyond what I could fathom."

      Drizzt frowned, confused. Zak watched him for a moment, and then he chuckled. "I had thought, once, that Menzoberranzan had taken you as it takes all of the others. I thought you were lost, Drizzt, and yet it was you, never I, who found the strength to leave. How many times did I watch you, and wish as you did that I could have been beside you?"

      "But you have been."


	2. Prelude continued

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Zak's smile suddenly threatened to take in his ears. "Exactly!" he exclaimed, grabbing Drizzt by the shoulders and shaking him, less than gently. "It hurt you to have to let me go, but I see that you understand that you never truly had to."

      Drizzt nodded thoughtfully. "You're with me now," he said slowly.

      "I'm with you, now." His smile was sad. "But not as you would like me to be."

      The room started to grow brighter, the walls disappeared to be replaced with trees, and suddenly Drizzt and Zaknafein stood in Montolio's grove. Drizzt watched his father for a long moment, before turning to look around him at the familiar setting.

      "Goodbye, Drizzt," Zak's voice whispered, from very far off. Drizzt turned back as quickly as he could, but the other drow was already gone.

      "Goodbye, Zaknafein," Drizzt murmured. 

      "Drow?" called the voice of Montolio De Brouche, to Drizzt's left. The ranger was just coming out of his house, an owl perched comfortably on his shoulder. 

      "Mooshie," Drizzt greeted, reigning in the bittersweet recognition of this dream-world for what it was.

      "Thought I heard your voice." The blind ranger walked unerringly towards him. "What are you doing here?"

      "Searching for something," Drizzt replied with a wistful sigh. Montolio nodded.

      "I thought I told you that you would never find what you were meant to find if you just stayed here," Mooshie admonished gently.

      Drizzt reflected for a moment on the fact that, while Zaknafien had understood why Drizzt was with him immediately, Montolio seemed genuinely confused. 

      "That was the problem from the start, Drizzt. You're very young for a drow, and I am very old for a man. If I let you stay, you were going to have to accept the fact that it was never permanent. If you had met me as a baby it would have been little different."

      Drizzt nodded, tears coming to his lavender eyes. "I believe I'm catching on now."

      Montolio smiled at him. "Well, good. Then you can go and leave an old man in peace."

      "Thank you, Montolio."

      Drizzt awoke suddenly, Innovindil's soft voice calling him back to consciousness. He looked at her for a moment before he stood up and stretched.

      "Where were you, just now?" the elf asked.

      Drizzt glanced to the mouth of the cave, where the sun was soon to set. "I was... starting towards an understanding."


	3. Troubled

Catti-Brie leaned against the wall of the tunnel and let herself slide down wearily to sit beside Wulfgar. The barbarian was seemingly sound asleep, and did not open his eyes to see her, but put a comforting hand on her knee. She smiled a little.  
"We should come out of the tunnels soon," he murmured. "In the Moonwood."  
"Soon is not soon enough," the girl sighed. "The longer we're away from Mithril Hall--"  
"Mithril Hall will be fine in our absence for a few days."  
"It will take more than 'a few days' to find Drizzt out there."  
"And it will take more than a few days to set up our defenses, with or without us. We should not be missing any battles."  
"Bah," Bruenor blustered. "It's our boys in the Hall who'll be missin' battles. Durned elf probably knows where to find all o' the fights."  
Wulfgar nodded. "Chances are good," he agreed with a grin.  
There was a long moment of silence that none of them felt the need to break. Nothing that any of the three companions were thinking was a secret to the others. They all feared, for Drizzt, for Mithril Hall, for themselves.  
"Go to sleep, Cat," Bruenor said, as softly as his dwarven voice would allow. Catti-Brie leaned her head wearily against Wulfgar's shoulder and closed her eyes, immediately feeling sleep take her away from her troubles.  
* * *  
  
"We can't call Guen today," Innovindil remarked as she watched the drow ready himself for the evening's orc hunting. Drizzt nodded absently. The elf rolled her eyes.  
"There are a lot of orcs out there, Drizzt."  
"I've fought without Guenhwyvar before..." He looked at her. "We've fought without Guen before," he amended. She nodded.  
"Little skirmishes, yes," she agreed. "But I can tell that that isn't what you're after today. The closest band of orcs is two score strong. That's twenty for each of us."  
The drow shrugged. "There have been worse odds," he replied, his tone hinting that he was through with the conversation.  
Not taking the hint, Innovindil crossed the cave to stand nearer to him. "Perhaps so," she said dubiously, "but at that point, you had your focus, Drizzt Do'Urden."  
"I—"  
"You're preoccupied with that dream," she interrupted him. He frowned. "You were saying things in your sleep," she explained. Innovindil gave him a sympathetic look. "Even if you hadn't been, though, I would know that you are not entirely with me here."  
"I'll be fine," he insisted.  
"Let's take a rest from it, for one night. Talk to me, my friend."  
Drizzt wanted to agree with her. He wanted to take heed of his dream and move on from this grief that had him forever trying to drown his emotions in physical exhaustion. Even more strongly than that, though, he wanted to search out the orcs and kill every last one, if it took the next five hundred years.  
"I cannot." He turned to the mouth of the cave. Innovindil caught his arm.  
"What happened to that understanding?"  
"I said I was moving towards it. I never claimed to have reached it." 


	4. Sating the Thirst

Twin scimitars were drawn with the telltale ringing of metal, the faint yet horribly familiar sound alerting the large band of orcs Drizzt had found. The drow had to concentrate for a moment to keep Twinkle from illuminating the dark night with its blue glow.  
"Wos that?" cried the largest of the band, who also looked to be the stupidest. Given that evidence, Drizzt guessed him to be the leader of the party. The others shifted uncomfortably.  
Drizzt jumped as a very similar ringing sound was heard across the camp from his hidden vantage point. "Innovindil," he whispered under his breath to himself.  
"Oo's there?"  
Drizzt, seconds before, had been fully prepared to jump out and attack. Now, with another to be concerned about, he thought again. Was this worth the risk, merely to sate his sudden thirst for orc-blood? He thought of his dream, of Zak and Motolio. Would they want him to enter a battle in which he was ridiculously outnumbered, if it was at risk of a friend's life? At the risk of his own life?  
Innovindil suddenly made a strangled noise, one that may have been the beginning of a scream that had been cut short. Resisting the overpowering urge to call out to her, Drizzt remained still and silent. The orcs in the camp seemed suddenly very restless, but much less nervous. A very non- orcish voice arose from the cover of the trees.  
"Come out here, Drizzt Do'Urden." The words were spoken in a hauntingly familiar language that Drizzt had not spoken for several years. He shuddered as it continued. "Or your faerie friend will not last so long."  
There were sounds of a struggle. "Drizzt, don't!" Innovindil managed to shout before she was silenced again with a thud that turned Drizzt's stomach. All he could think was Not another, over and over, desperately. I can't lose another.  
"You only have so long before my patience subsides, Do'Urden," the calm, feminine, drow voice threatened.  
"Asanque," Drizzt replied, a drow word which could mean either "as you wish" or "likewise." He stepped out into view of the orcs, and, he assumed, their drow companion. Snarls rose up on all sides, and the beasts brandished crude weapons at him. He noted carefully, and with some satisfaction, that none were willing to make any move more threatening towards the dangerous, lavender-eyed drow ranger.  
A sharp, mirthless laugh echoed through the trees. "So it is true, what they say about how naïve you are."  
"That remains to be seen," Drizzt replied. His purple eyes flitted over the faces of orcs and to the side, where he could just make out where the shadows grew deeper and red glowing eyes peered hungrily out at him. There were at least two drow there, probably more if he knew his treacherously opportunistic kin. He hoped, on more than one level, that he did not.  
Drizzt Do'Urden, his rational self, searched for any plausible way he could make it out of this alive, and more importantly, with Innovindil alive as well. He guessed the number of orcs to be about thirty strong, and with the added threat of the drow that was more than Drizzt could hope to defeat. He felt the Hunter trying desperately to surface, that primal being that knew little else beyond survival, the alter ego that he fed with the anger and hatred that Drizzt's natural demeanor pushed away.  
He shivered with the effort as he held the Hunter off, knowing that he could not hold on long against it.  
A female drow stepped out from under the trees, separated from Drizzt by a hundred meters and all of the orcs. His eyes snapped involuntarily to the snake headed whip displayed prominently on her belt. He quickly averted his gaze, his lip curling in a feral snarl that the Hunter forced through his throat.  
How Drizzt wished he could call Guenhwyvar!  
"So this is the mighty renegade himself, the lone drow who has incurred the wrath of so many Matron Mothers."  
Drizzt had no patience for such meaningless labels, unnecessary words. "What do you want?" he asked with annoyance. "What reason have you to come after me?"  
The drow shook her head. "No, Drizzt, you have the wrong idea. I've not come after you. I have merely, fortunately, happened upon you. There are so many things I want, Drizzt Do'Urden. What do you have to offer?"  
"Air," he retorted. "Your ability to breathe it in."  
"I already have that," she bantered. "Give me the cat."  
Drizzt smiled mirthlessly. "No."  
"Your heart," she suggested. Drizzt paused for a moment.  
"No longer mine to give."  
Again the laughter came, a smooth yet incredibly harsh sound. "Ah, Drizzt."  
Briefly, Drizzt wondered why he was still standing there, unscathed, negotiating with one of his heartless, evil kind. She was no Jarlaxle, certainly no Zaknafein... but was she a Matron Malice? Briza? She could hardly be trusted, but was she to fear?  
"Let me see the faerie," he asked.  
The drow smiled. "Come over here and look at her yourself."  
Drizzt's hesitation was only momentary, and as he took a step forward it was if the orcs had been let off of leashes. He understood his mistake in thinking that they were apprehensive about fighting him; rather they did not want to vex whoever controlled them. The creatures came ahead strong, crude but ultimately effective weapons chopping in towards him from all sides as they surged around him. He let Twinkle flare to light, choosing to concentrate on more important matters.  
An orcish spear stabbed in for his thigh. It was systematically swatted away and broken by a sweeping scimitar, which followed the momentum deep into the chest of another orc, dropping it. From his left came a notched axe, swinging high at his throat. The weapon was the final touch that made Drizzt relinquish control to the waiting Hunter within him.  
The scimitar wielding drow ducked as he turned on the orc holding the familiar-looking weapon. He looked at the ugly beast and saw Bruenor standing on the tower, one-horned helmet atop his head, axe held aloft. He looked at the weapon, and saw the tower crumble, taking Bruenor with it, taking Catti- Brie and Wulfgar and Regis. Now trying to take Innovindil.  
Lavender eyes narrowed, a grim smirk appeared on the sculpted ebony face, two deadly scimitars flowed in, their dance now focused on this offensive foe. The Hunter only noticed the slightest slowing of his momentum as the blades sliced through the orc's shoulders, severing both arms cleanly. The howl of the orc did not create any pity within the Hunter, only more need for blood. One, two, one, two, one, two, two. The Hunter's blades created a clear rhythm as he hacked into the unfortunate orc.  
Purely out of instinct, he had Icingdeath in line to catch the swipe of a sword from behind him. As he settled into the fight, so did the creatures. He could not afford to focus on one attack again. He fell more deeply into the warrior instincts.  
Drizzt's eyes shut, they could not process information fast enough to aid him at this point. His scimitars created an impenetrable barrier of steel around him, ringing with the song of battle, each new strike creating a unique note. The sound of his enemies and their weapons hitting the ground became a sort of savage drum beat, setting the pace of his dance.  
The Hunter automatically knew when no other orc came to meet his attacks, and he stopped short his momentum. His eyes snapped open again, to witness the carnage he had wrought. The drow clapped slowly, sinisterly, as Drizzt Do'Urden once again took control back from the Hunter. He understood that all of the killing had brought him no joy or even satisfaction, and therefore realized that all of his success so far in this battle had come as no true victory.  
Drizzt lived for the excitement, the thrill of battle, but even that had lost it's meaning somewhere along the course of his single-minded quest for revenge. As the rage and blood- lust receded, he started to recognize the aching all over his body, the evidence that his defense had not been quite as impenetrable as he had thought. His scimitars seemed to grow heavier in his tired arms, as he looked up to see two drow, one male, one female.  
"A beautiful display," said the female. "I do regret that we will have to kill you." 


	5. The Unexpected Assistance

"I feel like the elf," Bruenor grumbled, shielding his eyes as they stepped out of the cave into the brilliant light of sunrise. "Trust the two o' ye to lead us out in the daytime."  
  
Catti-Brie smiled a little at the dwarf's constant bluster, even as tears brimmed over her squinting eyelids at the thought of Drizzt. She could see him next to her, pulling up the cowl of his green cloak, throwing her a wink as he drew his scimitars. In her heart she thought she knew he was still alive, but what if she were wrong?  
  
"It won't be as bad under the trees," Wulfgar suggested. "And I'll bet the elves will have some clue for us, as to where he will be."  
  
"We don't need them," Bruenor said as the companions headed for the shade of the forest. "We've got the locket."  
  
"That will help," the barbarian agreed. "But all it gives us is a direction, and it is unwise not to take all of the help we can get at this point. Remember that we're not just looking for Drizzt for our own reasons as his friends, but also because we need all the help we can get with those orcs."  
  
"Elf can fight," Bruenor conceded. "And Rumblebelly will whine if we leave him in charge longer than necessary."  
  
They fell silent as the canopy of leaves grew over their heads, blocking out the sunlight they were still trying to get used to after so long in the tunnels. None of the three could hear any trace of the light elven footsteps, but both Catti-Brie and Wulfgar were sensitive to the feeling that they were being watched. There were elves all around them, just hidden, waiting to see what the three companions would do.  
  
Catti-Brie and Wulfgar shared a long, questioning glance that ended with a shrug from each of them. Both figured that it would be best to wait until the elves willingly made themselves known, unless that took very much longer than it already had. They couldn't afford patience, for Drizzt's sake.  
  
They rested for a moment in a small clearing, and as they had hoped, elves came into view from all sides.  
  
"Durned elves, always sneakin' up on people, can't never just be polite and give a bit o' warnin'," Bruenor mumbled, the only one surprised by the elves' appearance.  
  
"We might pretend not to know who you are," said one female elf, stepping closer, "but stories of the Companions of the Hall are too well known across the Realms."  
  
Catti-Brie nodded graciously. "We were hopin' that you might have some knowledge of Drizzt Do'Urden," she explained their presence. The elf maiden shook her head sadly.  
  
"We do not. Two of our kin, Tarathiel and Innovindil, went out in search of the drow. They hoped to warn him that Ellifain—"  
  
"The young elf whose life he saved decades ago during a drow raid," Catti-Brie identified. She shifted her gaze uncomfortably to Wulfgar and Bruenor, before looking back to the elf. "She confronted Drizzt, some months ago.... They were both mortally injured when we found them. We only had enough healing potion for one... he begged me to give it to her."  
  
All of the elves bowed their heads sadly. "We feared it would be so... Ellifain was obsessed. She'd never have rested until one of them was killed. It is a shame, but at least now she is free."  
  
"I am sorry," Catti-Brie said sincerely. "Drizzt still—"  
  
"We understand, Catti-Brie. Unfortunately, we know nothing of where Drizzt Do'Urden may be, except that our scouts have seen a great number of orcs not far from our border, and they have mentioned something of a dangerous drow. It may be safe to assume they mean Drizzt, if all we have heard of the ranger is truth."  
  
Wulfgar grinned. "It is."  
  
"We wish we could provide more for you," she said. She turned and whistled into the forest. "Take some of our horses."  
  
There were sounds of hooves and three magnificent elven-bred steeds came obiediently to the elf's call. "Thank you," Catti-Brie said. The elves took a few steps back, and faded out of sight.  
  
*~~*~~*~~*~~*  
  
Drizzt worked hard to control his breathing as adrenaline continued to pump through him. The sun was rising at his back, and the two drow had bound their eyes to avoid being entirely blinded. He knew he could use that to his advantage, but with the sudden disadvantages, the pain in his arms and legs, his own sensitivity to the sunlight, the fact that he was still outnumbered... his one advantage seemed somehow a ridiculous thing to bank his life on.  
  
He needed time to think, to shape this battle as he always had tried to on the road with his four friends. The drow seemed happy enough to let him make the first move, but he understood how little patience they would afford him. It was not wise to give one with Drizzt's reputation too much leisure.  
  
He figured that Guen would still be slightly tired, but rested well enough to make the difference in a fight. Still, if he produced the ebony statuette, the chances that these two would allow the word 'Guenhwyvar' to escape his lips were very slight indeed. Not now, when they were so carefully watching him. He might as well toss the figurine to them without a fight, if that was his plan.  
  
Drizzt's glance was pulled over to the male drow as he drew a slender sword and a dirk. The drow looked at Drizzt a bit uncertainly, then back at the female. Drizzt knew that the drow's misgivings were unnecessary; he remembered the snake whip he had taken so careful inventory of. If this drow had even half the skill of any of their kin, in this situation when Drizzt could hardly stand to lift his aching arms, it would surprise Drizzt if he could defeat him.  
  
Drizzt's foe came on cautiously, probably thrown off by the way Drizzt calmly waited for him, not moving, not bringing his scimitars to the ready.  
  
"Ready, Drizzt Do'Urden?"  
  
Drizzt didn't respond. The drow took a lazy swing at him, an attempt to nudge him into action. The scenario reminded Drizzt of his duels with Artemis Entreri, except that this time he had every intention to fight back. He let the sword cut a thin line on his cheek, before both scimitars burst into motion, one cutting in towards the opening the drow had left on his right side, the other stabbing forwards for his stomach. Not having time for any other reaction, the drow fell backwards into a hurried roll and then another, coming up far from Drizzt.  
  
The ranger watched but did not pursue, in part because the drow had retreated towards his female companion, and in part because he saw no reason to bother. His opponent, confused and angered, rushed back in, his emotions not coloring his fighting style. He did not make another mistake.  
  
This drow was a brilliant fighter, Drizzt saw. At his best, Drizzt could have beaten him, he knew, but it would have been an extensive battle. The drow forced Drizzt to the defensive, attack routine after attack routine forcing Drizzt's scimitars to be everywhere, keeping Drizzt too preoccupied to attempt taking the offense. Drizzt's motions were slower than usual and gradually becoming more so as the battle taxed his strength. And he was holding back so his energy was not spent too quickly.  
  
Drizzt settled into the rhythm, gritting his teeth and ignoring the pain he felt. He was concentrating more on this than he had on anything for some time, searching for any opening in the well-formed defenses of his opponent. Drizzt guessed, from the precise way the drow fought, his weakness would be in his inability to improvise if necessary.  
  
Drizzt shot a cursory glance towards the priestess, but could not see her. He didn't have time to worry about it at the moment, and if she did enter the fight, Drizzt knew that his training with Zaknafein had taught him well how to improvise. As the drow cut high with both blades, Drizzt fell into a crouch. Expecting him to aim an attack at his legs, Drizzt's opponent was off-balance when Drizzt's scimitars shot upwards instead, slicing deep into one of his arms. The drow's sword fell from his hand, and he ran backwards, trying to regroup away from Drizzt. This time, Drizzt did follow.  
  
Or at least he started to. There was a hissing behind him that he did not have the time to respond to before he felt the fangs tearing into his back and down his legs. With a cry he could not repress, Drizzt collapsed to the ground. The insidious poison burned as it spread through him, paralyzing him almost instantaneously.  
  
"Ah, Drizzt... you really are a fighter. You cannot know how much respect I have for your talents." He heard her moving slowly around him. "And now it seems you will never come to."  
  
He heard a dagger being drawn, and the female kneeled to roll Drizzt over onto his back. She started muttering something, her voice rich with the power of a spell. From the direction of where Drizzt thought the male had been, there was a soft thud that the priestess did not notice, preoccupied as she was.  
  
Drizzt's entire body went cold, and he felt as though he were frozen within a block of ice. His lungs would not accept the air he tried desperately to gulp in. The female looked up from his face and seemed surprised by something she saw, but Drizzt did not know what it was. A shadow passed across his vision. I'm dying, he thought all but emotionlessly.  
  
But the darkness was gone as soon as it had come, and he realized that it was not his eyes malfunctioning, but something had leapt over him. The female let out a shriek that was cut short, a noise very similar to the one Innovindil had made.  
  
The flying shadow padded over to Drizzt after a moment, big eyes peering concernedly from a black face. The cat nudged his shoulder hopefully, but Drizzt could not respond. The drow did not, at that moment, realize the impossibility that the panther was there.  
  
"Guen, go home," said a weary voice. The panther growled. "He'll be fine, go rest."  
  
"Innovindil," Drizzt managed to rasp.  
  
"Naw," the voice replied. "It's Harkle." 


End file.
